


smile like a secret

by mimsical



Series: there is a house by the sea and an ocean between it and me [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Boarding School, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Dirk Strider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimsical/pseuds/mimsical
Summary: OR: How Dirk and Jake got together.Set 10 years before the start of An Ocean Between.





	smile like a secret

“Hey,” you say. 

“Mm,” Dirk says in vague acknowledgment, clutching a cup of tea and gazing into its depths like it might sprout a mouth and reveal the secrets of the universe to him. There is still a mark from his pillow creased into his cheek. 

“Coffee, Dirk?” Roxy offers. 

“No,” he says, more clearly. “No coffee.” He takes a sip of his tea, then looks up and focused his gaze on you. “Oh, hey, Jake.” 

“Hi,” you greet him again. “Sleep well?”

“No,” Dirk grumbles. “I was up ‘til like… fuck, I don't know. Late.”

“Is your project being a hassle, then?” You help yourself to the pot of tea on the table. It's the same semi-bitter green they've served every morning for the past ten years. You stir it idly and steal a strip of bread from Dirk’s plate. He shoves your shoulder. 

“Get your own damn plate, and my project is going fine.” He frowns at his eggs. “There's just a lot of detail to manage, that's all.”

“You ever think of asking for help?” Roxy mutters under her breath. She has her usual cup of coffee and a bowl of oats set atop her open notebook. You watch as she dribbles some porridge on the page and tries to wipe it up with her napkin. She scrawls a drying sigil in the margins and takes her bite. 

“I think I've almost got it figured out,” Dirk says, ignoring her. “Just need a couple last pieces and it'll be good to go.” 

“Good for you,” you say, snagging another bit of bread. “Sounds like you've got a right solid grasp on the whole shebang. Do consider getting some shut-eye later.”

“I’ll take a nap in the afternoon,” Dirk says, likely having not a trace of genuine intention to do that. “After history.” 

“If you don't, Rox and I’ll sic Jane on you.” Finally defeated by Dirk pointing his fork at you in a threatening gesture, you go to dish yourself up some chow from the warming pans. When you return, Dirk and Roxy are engaged in some conversation about their shared literature class that you're inclined to let go over your head. You drink your tea, and then Dirk’s when it goes untouched. He's finally perked up, at least for the time being, which you attribute to the vitalizing powers of food and your sterling presence. Well, no, it probably has nothing to do with you. The dark smudges under Dirk’s eyes worry you. 

Knowing it's not welcome at the moment, you keep your concerns to yourself. Beyond the sound of chattering students, cacophonous as ever, you hear the sound of the wind wailing as it always does up in the foothills of these mountains. When you first came to the school as a wee orphaned tot, you thought the wind sounded like a crueller version of the ocean. Now you scarcely recall the sound of waves at all. 

You’ve sunk so deep into your introspection, trying to tune out the loudness of the cafeteria, that it takes you by surprise when Dirk stands up. “Oh, are you done?” you ask. “I’ll come with you.” 

“Sure, whatever,” Dirk says. Roxy waves you off, still looking over her notebook, and you trail after Dirk to drop your plates off in the cleaning bins. You turn your collar up immediately when you step outside into the blast of the wind, wincing. It’s not as bad as it was in the winter months, and come summer it’ll be much more pleasant, bringing a respite from the hot sun, but for now, it’s chilling. 

“So,” you begin, raising your voice to be heard, “when are you going to let us in on this top secret project?” 

“Not yet,” Dirk says. 

“I know, I know, you want to keep it all to yourself.” You sneak him a wink. “I’m awfully curious, though. Are you certain you won’t tell me? Surely you can trust your best friend.” 

“I’m sure,” he says as you trudge down the hill towards the school proper. “It’s a surprise.” 

“Ooh, I see,” you say. “Well I’m sure you’ll blow us all away, with a brain like yours. I don’t think we’ve met a person who you couldn’t dazzle if you tried.” 

Contrary to usual, Dirk doesn’t play along with your teasing. He’s frowning down at the ground and doesn’t reply. Perhaps he’s just tired, but your stomach sours with sudden worry. Maybe the project isn’t going as well as he’d hoped? You try to formulate a way to ask, feeling tongue-tied by his silence. 

“Are you, um.” You wince at your clumsy hesitation. “You’re awfully quiet. Are you quite alright, chap?” You try to reach out and touch Dirk’s arm, hoping to soothe whatever storm is brewing in his mind. 

Dirk side-steps out of reach. You come to a halt, stung. Dirk sucks in a deep breath and tilts his head back towards the sky, then turns to face you. 

“Look,” he says. 

You feel sick with a sudden surge of anxious butterflies, moths, and various unsavory winged insects in your stomach. 

“I get it, right?” Dirk says. “Like, it’s not been all that long since I told you that I’m a guy, in the grand scheme of things. And overall you’ve been — you’ve been great, really. Full marks all around, except. Uh.” He scrubs a hand over his face and you have to crane your ears to check his next words. “I don’t know, you’ve always been just. Kind of a flirty guy, and that’s fine, it’s cool. But it doesn’t feel great that you didn’t... lay off, when you came back and I was full-on guy-ified, no girl to be found, and I know it’s not like I ever discouraged you, and hell, maybe I’ve read everything wrong and you’re just really friendly and touchy and I’m making a big fucking deal out of nothing.” He looks at you from under his eyelashes, and oh, fuck you if you aren’t staggered by how hurt he is. 

“Oh,” you say, faintly. 

“Yeah,” Dirk says. “So, like. I guess what I’m saying is that things have to be different now. You get that, right?” 

“Right,” you repeat. “I — I’m sorry.” You tuck your hands into your pockets and stare at the ground between you. 

“Thank you,” Dirk says. “Uh. I’m just going to get to class, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper, and he turns on his heel and marches off to the building ahead, leaving you frozen and sick to your stomach on the path. 

You feel terrible. Not wanting to follow Dirk and run into him again, but needing to get out of the wind, you stumble around the side of the building to a different entrance, the one near the stairs to the basement. The chatter of your classmates rings in your ears after the loudness of the wind outside. You open the door to the stairs and rattle down them until you reach the bottom. Not many people have classes down here in the morning, and this is the less popular entrance. You slump down on the stairs and put your head in your hands. 

Dirk is… 

Dirk is special. Not because of his in retrospect predictable change of heart about gender. Not for any reason you can concretely line up. He’s just… he’s special to you. You can’t explain it. You didn’t have friends here at first, spent a few years young and grieving and so terribly lonely. Then Dirk and Roxy arrived. Dirk had been sick his first week, you remember, and Roxy had somehow picked you out of the crowd and known you were to be friends. She was your first real friend. Dirk had been initially shy and withdrawn, but Roxy had known him already, dragged him out of his shell and forced him to be friends with you, too. 

You’d liked him. Not… He hadn’t been  _ Dirk _ then, but he’s begun carrying himself with such a stronger degree of assurance lately that you could never, ever think that this change could be a bad thing. But, the, the person you’d met back then, a quiet child with a very intense gaze. From the first time you’d made him laugh, a real snort and chuckle instead of his reluctant, uneasy smile, he’d been your best friend. He was… You don’t have words for it beyond: he’s special to you. 

And maybe once you’d all grown up a bit and he’d turned all easy on the eyes with wry humor and inside jokes and a degree of crudeness that delighted you, maybe you’d liked him a little overly. 

Who could blame you? He’s a delight to be friends with. You’d learned to treasure the little smiles he’d saved just for you, the way he’d let you sit closer to him than he let other boys. The attention you paid him had turned keener, and you’d always gotten a sense that he wasn’t a bit displeased by it. Whenever he’d grabbed your arm to pull you along on some escapade, your stomach would fill with nervous warmth. 

Then Dirk was a boy and you thought that would be the end of it. 

Except it wasn’t. 

Now he’s upset because he feels slighted. Dirk hates to be taken anything less than seriously. You’re a fool and you should’ve known better than to just keep on the same old way and pretend Dirk wouldn’t notice if you still slung an arm around his shoulders and whispered in his ear, conspiratorial in a way that belied your… regard for him. Your feelings for him. 

You twist your hands into your hair and hide your face in your forearms, no doubt smearing your glasses. He has every right to be angry with you, and you don’t know what to do about it. You don’t know if you should tell him that you... 

You’re such a coward. You can’t so much as say it in the safety of your own mind. You like him. You like him, you like him more with each passing day and it frightens you a little, wanting so many things. 

Distantly, you hear bells tolling. Top of the hour. You’re meant to be in class in a few short minutes. 

With effort, you push yourself to your feet. You did apologize, that’s what matters. Dirk has a different schedule than you this morning, but you’ll see him at lunch. You can try to think of what you want to say to him in the meantime. 

 

* * *

 

During class you’re a distracted mess. Any sigils you try to make are utterly worthless. At one point you try to mark a sign for clarity on your notebook and nearly send the whole thing up in flames, drawing the raised eyebrows of many. Flushed with embarrassment, you try to sink low in your seat and avoid making eye contact with anyone. By the time lunch rolls around you’re no closer to knowing what to say or how to act around Dirk, but you pluck of the shreds of your courage and trail behind the crowd, back up to the cafeteria. 

You spot Jane and Roxy quickly at your usual table along the wall and dilly dally picking out your lunch. Once you really can’t pretend to be so enthralled by the choice between chicken and ham any longer you weave through the tables to reach them. 

“Where’s Dirk?” you ask when you realize that they’re still sitting alone. 

“We were about to ask you the same thing,” Jane answers. “He wasn’t in class. Roxy says he left with you this morning.” She frowns at you accusingly, rightfully blaming you for Dirk’s sudden academic delinquency. “Did you say something to him?” 

“Um,” you respond. Jane’s frown deepens ominously. “I mean… he did seem a little upset, I suppose.” 

“Upset?” Jane echoes. “Did you ask him what was wrong?” 

You can’t tell her what you talked about. There is no way that would go well. “He didn’t seem all that upset when we parted? I saw him go into the building for class… He must’ve left after that.” You cast around for inspiration to avoid her questioning. “I bet he’s in his room. I’ll bring him a sandwich and see what’s wrong, how’s that?” 

“Give him this,” Roxy interjects. She reaches over and fishes an orange out of Jane’s lunch, ignoring her protestation. “From Jane’s dad with love, hoping he feels better, okay? Repeat that back to me so I know you’re telling him right.” 

“From Jane’s dad with love, hoping he feels better,” you recite dutifully. 

“Roxy!” Jane hisses. “Don’t just volunteer my food!” 

Roxy pats her arm. “It’s for a good cause, Janesy.” 

“Cheers!” you say, putting on your brightest smile. “I’ll just run this off to him, then.” 

“Wait,” Jane says. You try not to wince. “If he’s upset because of you, tell him that he can talk to me about it, okay?” 

“Harsh,” Roxy stage whispers. 

“Sure, Jane,” you say, just wanting to make your escape already. 

She lets you go this time, and you hurry off, still clutching your own lunch plate. You make a second pair of sandwiches for Dirk and eat yours on the walk over, hunched over the plate protectively to try to prevent the lettuce from catching the wind and taking flight. If you focus on your lunch you can ignore your prickling nerves at having cornered yourself into talking to Dirk when you still have no idea what you’re going to say. 

You finish eating in time to shoulder the door to the dorms open. Dirk has a little corner room all to himself at the other end of the hall. You take a minute to arrange the orange more attractively on the plate with the sandwiches. Maybe the bribe of food will make Dirk forget that he’s unhappy with you. 

Take a breath to steel yourself, you march down the hallway and knock on Dirk’s door. 

“Just a sec,” he calls out, followed by the bang of something falling. You hear him curse, and then he pulls the door open. 

“Oh,” he says, seeing that it’s you. 

“Hi,” you say, fixing your gaze on his face and not on the tight white tank top he’s wearing. Why did you think this was a good idea. Why. “Roxy and Jane said you weren’t in class, so I brought you lunch. No sense in going hungry.” 

“Thanks,” Dirk mutters. He takes the plate from you gingerly. There’s a smear of something on his arm. Glue? His whole room smells like glue, actually. Over his shoulder you can see on his desk a mess of thin paper and sticks that you struggle to parse. 

“Is that your secret project?” you ask, indicating it. 

Dirk twists around to look. Whatever he was doing before he answered the door must’ve required some exertion, because his back looks damp with sweat. “Shit, you’re not supposed to see that,” he says. 

“Is it… a kite?” you guess, still craning to see it properly. 

He tries to block your view for another second before giving up and stepping aside to let you come in. “It’s not a kite, technically,” he says, setting the plate down on the desk beside it. “Or, it is. It’s a dragon-shaped kite that flies itself.” 

“It flies _itself_?” you ask, fascinated. 

“Yeah,” Dirk says. “See, I build the wings and tail to give it the dexterity to move them, so once it’s up in the air it can flap around and adjust course. It doesn’t really think for itself except to decide whether to fly in circles or figure-eights, though. And it’s not done.” 

“That’s amazing!” you say. “Dirk, that’s brilliant! It reminds me of those old designs of my grandma’s, you know, books whose pages turned themselves and teacups that could walk over to you.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “In class we were supposed to pick a famous person and create something that imitates their work. I, uh, picked your grandma.” 

“Oh.” You stare down at the kite. “I…”

“I knew it was weird,” Dirk mutters. 

“It’s not weird!” you say at once. “It’s… it’s very sweet of you.” 

Dirk turns away immediately. “Jake…” 

“That’s a genuine compliment!” you protest immediately. “Dirk, I promise, I’m not trying to undermine your gender, honest to Betsy. It _is_ sweet of you, unless you didn’t mean for it to — to be meaningful to me or somesuch — but I’m touched, I’m tickled pink that you’d think of my Gran. You’re all boy to me. I’ll swear on anything you can think of.” 

“Then why the fuck do you keep putting moves on me,” Dirk snaps. “Because, frankly, after knowing you this long I’m pretty damn sure I know what you look like when you’re flirting, and I know you can’t mean it for me unless — ”

“Who says I don’t mean it? You’re the one who’s saying that, not me!” 

“You like _girls_. I’m a fucking boy, Jake.”

“I know that!” you yell, and then Dirk seems to get it. You stare at each other in shocked silence. You can feel your face starting to burn and bite the inside of your cheek.

“You mean…” Dirk begins, in an entirely different tone of voice. 

“Um,” you say, faintly. You scramble for words and come up blank. 

Dirk is turning pink. “Do you mean that you, like…” He trails off. 

“Maybe,” you say. You want to cover your face in embarrassment. “Not maybe. I…” You clear your throat and notice for the first time that Dirk is barefoot. There’s something oddly vulnerable about that, and you force your eyes back up to meet his. “I, um. I like you.” 

“Oh,” Dirk says. “Really? I thought… I thought you only liked girls.” 

“Well,” you say helplessly. “So did I.” Your gaze drops to his mouth without meaning to when he licks his lips and, oh fuck, you think he noticed you looking. He’s still staring at you, wide-eyed as a deer caught in the beam of a witchlight. 

“You like me,” Dirk repeats. 

“Is that… okay?” You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous in your life. Dirk’s expression is absolutely unreadable. 

“Sure,” Dirk says. “Follow your passions and all that. Except I guess your passion is me in this case, which, that sounds fucking dumb, forget I said that. Uh. Would you want to, like… Can I kiss you?” 

“Oh!” you say. 

“We don’t have to,” Dirk says hurriedly. “It was just an idea, no big deal.” 

“No, that — that sounds nice,” you stammer out. Oh, god, you’re looking at his mouth again. You take half a step towards him and are bolstered when Dirk doesn’t flee, shrieking. He looks up at you and sways closer as you raise a hand to touch his face. His skin is warm under your palm. He sets a hand cautiously on your side and, with no clue how exactly to do this beyond the time you clumsily kissed some girl years ago during a holiday celebration, you lean down to press your lips against his. 

The first touch is tentative. His lips are dry and a little chapped, warm against yours. You feel shivery-hot all over and try to picture the times you’ve seen people kissing to imitate them. Dirk seems to have a clue what he’s doing because he moves his mouth slowly against yours. You try to mimic him and it seems to work because you feel him shiver under your hands, and, oh god, when did you start touching his arm. Running your hand up to his shoulder makes your hand tingle with how smooth his skin is, only a few little bumps to be found. 

Dirk pulls back with a gasp, to catch his breath you think, but you don’t want to stop kissing him so once you get a few breaths in you lean back in. Your hand drops to cup his neck and you remember all the kisses in books you’ve heard Dirk mock and think that they’re absolutely right, you feel dizzy and you want to kiss him all day. Daringly, Dirk runs his hand up your side and then slides it around your back, pulling you closer. You swear you can feel his heartbeat racing under your fingers. 

Dirk pulls back again. “Holy shit,” he breathes. 

Your glasses got smeared somewhere in this and you fumble them off and set them on the table beside you. “Um. Wow,” you say, elegantly. 

He snickers at you, eyes crinkling up so endearingly, and kisses you again. You can feel him smiling against your mouth. 

You get a little more bold, threading your fingers into his hair, not to tug, just to touch his scalp. Dirk hardly ever lets anyone touch his hair, but now you get to marvel at its softness between your fingers. He sighs into your mouth, an almost-audible sound humming in his throat.  _ Wow _ is a good description, you think. 

Dirk is picking distractingly at your shirt, trailing the fingers of his other hand up and down your spine. Holy blazes, it feels nice. Kissing is a little weird if you think about it, how you can sort of feel his teeth and you’re just pressing your lips together repeatedly. But you also just never, ever want to stop. 

You’re starting to think you’ve got a handle on what to do with your lips and are feeling pleased with yourself when Dirk very tentatively runs his tongue across your bottom lip. You make a noise without meaning to, low in your throat. This should be weird. It should be comically weird, licking Dirk’s mouth and feeling him slide his tongue against yours. But it’s not. It’s nice. He runs his nails down your spine again and, oh fuck, maybe it’s a little too nice. 

Oh no. You twist your fingers a little harder in his hair accidentally and Dirk — there really isn’t a better word for it, he moans quietly and you are so, so royally screwed. _Down, boy_ , you think at yourself desperately. You don’t want to stop, but if Dirk notices it’ll just make everything awkward. 

Unfortunately, Dirk is a very observant person. He breaks the kiss, frowning, when you get a little clumsy in your ministrations. “Are you okay?” he asks in a voice that’s too low and intimate to be permissible, a little worried wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. 

“I’m peaches and cream!” you say with determined brightness. “Boy howdy, Dirk, you sure know how to turn a fellow’s knees to jelly, let me tell you.” 

He smiles again, bemusedly, which doesn’t help the aforementioned weak knees problem. “Too much?” he asks. “We can, like, be done if you’d rather.” 

“No, I — ” you say, before your rational brain can catch up and give you a good scolding for not taking the out he just offered you. “I, um. I like this.” 

“So do I,” Dirk says, in that same low tone that’s just too damn sexy for your health and wellbeing. 

Foolishly tossing your common sense to the wind, you kiss him again, more forcefully to make up for the pause. Dirk doesn’t seem to have any objections to this, pressing back just as enthusiastically. He licks back into your mouth with his clever tongue and makes an approving sound when you accidentally scrape it with your teeth. You nip him a little harder, surprised but pleased at how his breath catches in his chest. 

Taking a leaf out of his book, you splay a hand against his back. The tank he’s wearing really is tight. You can feel the warmth of his skin right through it. It occurs to you somewhat belatedly that you can’t feel his, er, his chest despite being pressed close enough that you should be able to. Maybe that’s what this top is for? 

You feel like you should avoid touching his chest — not that you were planning to go for a grope or anything! You’re not that much of a cad, thanks much. You keep your hand firmly planted in the center of his back and explore the flat plain of it, feel out the curve of his lower spine curiously. 

Dirk has very slowly trailed one of his hands down your side, hesitantly picking at the fabric of your shirt. It’s more of a tickle than anything until he sneaks a few fingers under the hem and starts rubbing in little motions on your hip. Your hips twitch forward before you can control yourself but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

Not sure if it would be a good idea to try to slip a hand under his tank, but wanting very much to encourage him, you kiss him harder, bite his lower lip. Dirk seems successfully emboldened, because he slides his hand under your shirt more firmly. You shudder as he starts exploring your skin, finding your spine again and running his nails up and down a few vertebrae. 

He slowly traces upwards until he finds your ribs, each touch only adding to the hot tension pooling in you. You try not to moan too obviously. Something about Dirk’s careful exploration has changed the feeling in the room from just mutual curious enjoyment to something tense and fragile. 

You don’t want to break it, whatever it is, and you bite your lip hard when Dirk shifts to press wandering kisses down your jawline. The junction of your jaw and neck is much more sensitive than you knew, and he must feel the way your hips twitch this time when he tongues that spot. He kisses your neck, open-mouthed. 

“Dirk,” you whisper. “Do you — d’you want me to take my shirt off?” Heat rises to your face all over again, but you said it and can’t take it back. He nods against your neck. You’re sure you’ve gone all terrible dark scarlet to the face, but you disentangle yourself enough to pull your shirt off and drop it to the floor. 

You kiss him again before he can get a good ogle in. He’s seen you shirtless before, but this is — different. Dirk makes up for it immediately by spreading both his hands wide against your skin, almost greedy, as if trying to touch as much of you at once as he can. He slides his hands up your chest and kisses your neck again. You entwine one hand back into his hair because he seemed to like that and rest the other on his hip, which seems safe enough. 

Dirk noses at the column of your throat and sucks a longer, wetter kiss there. The feeling of his mouth working against your skin is frigging exquisite, and when Dirk moves to palm your back and pull you closer against him there’s no hiding just what he’s been doing to you. You restrain the impulse to grind on him, tempting though it certainly is, and loop your fingers into his belt to hold him close instead. 

It’s all well and good to let him kiss you and touch you, but you want to do something for him. Not sure what, yet, you nudge him off of your neck and lay more kisses on his mouth, sloppy and urgent. Dirk pulls away enough to feel for the edge of the desk and he pulls you with him, turning until he can hop up on the edge, away from his project, and tug you against him again. He hooks his legs around you and you give in and roll your hips against his once. His hands go tight on your back and he does his best to grind back on you. 

“Dirk, shit,” you gasp. “Can I…” You fumble meaningfully at his belt. 

“Yeah,” he says, choked and faint. You don’t waste time unbuckling the belt and pulling it free, letting it clatter to the floor. Undoing the row of buttons takes a moment longer, but you can feel how hot he is as you clumsily tug them open, needing to touch him. He whines into your mouth as you cup him through his underwear and… try to have a darn fucking clue what you’re doing. 

You know that there’s a spot you’re supposed to rub, even if you’re a little shaky on exactly where you’re aiming for. Too low, you think, finding where he’s wet enough for you to feel it through the cloth. Blue fucking bejesus, that’s hot. You run your fingers higher until you feel him jolt, then try to recreate the motion. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dirk gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder. Bullseye, you think, very pleased with yourself. “Jake, holy fuck.” He continues to choke out strangled curses as you rub him. “Jake, oh my god, fuck, fuck.” He lifts his head to kiss you again but breaks the kiss to breathe heavily. You kiss his forehead when his chin drops to his chest and he trembles. “Oh, god, fuck me.” 

“What?” you say, louder than you intended. 

“I mean — uh — ” Dirk says, freezing up. “I was just — just running my fucking mouth, I didn’t mean you have to actually do that. Unless you’d want to?” Apparently unable to look you in the eye, he hides in your shoulder again. 

“Um,” you say. “Do — do you want to?” 

“A little,” Dirk says, muffled, which your years of Strider expertise tell you means that he wants it more than he’s willing to say. Your blood is hot in your ears and you don’t think you’ve been this aroused ever in your life. 

“Oh,” you say, a little faintly. “I mean. I’m not opposed to the suggestion.” 

“You’re not?” Dirk asks. 

“Well, I’m not bally likely to say no to — to an invitation like that, am I?” 

Dirk snorts and pushes you back a step. He looks like… he’s a sight, mussed hair and unbuttoned trousers and kiss-bruised lips. You’re likely not much better. 

“I don’t — ” You clear your throat. “I’m pants at sigils.” 

He nods and twists around to fumble for a pen. You have a swooping feeling of unreality in your stomach as you watch him try to roll his tank top up to expose his stomach. 

“Here,” you say, and reach for his hem to hold it up for him. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, and inks the anti-fertility sigil that you’ve never seen on a person before, only in books, onto his lower belly. Christopher _fucking_ kringlefucker, you are actually going to do this, aren’t you? You’re going to have sex with Dirk Strider. Your dick is so hard that it hurts. 

Dirk recaps his pen and sets it on the desk. His hands are a little shaky. You back up a step as he pushes off the desk to stand. He bends awkwardly, careful not to smudge the ink as it finishes drying, and pushes his pants down his legs. Hurrying to catch up, you sit on his habitually unmade bed (on his _bed_ , oh hell) and unlace your shoes to kick them off. You peel your socks off and undo your own belt. You look up again as you’re kicking your pants off and find Dirk hesitating, hands hovering on his compressive tank. 

“You can leave it on if it’s better for you,” you say quickly. 

He shakes his head. “I can’t, I’m not supposed to wear it when I do anything strenuous.” He hooks his hands under it and yanks it off, then crosses his arms over his chest with a defiant glare. 

He’s… striking, and your mouth is dry, but you keep your eyes fixed on his face. “Use my shirt, then,” you say. “I think this may be hard to achieve without the use of your hands.” 

Dirk nods shortly and turns to pick up your shirt from the floor. You do look at his ass when he bends over. You’re only human. 

You don’t quite want to lose your underpants yet, especially now that Dirk has a shirt on again. He seems to feel similarly, and leaves his where they are as he joins you on the bed. You arrange yourselves, lying down side by side, nervous anticipation prickling through you. Not wanting to dive right back in, you kiss him again, settle a hand back on his hip until you feel the residual tension start to drain out of him. 

It’s not hard to get back into the mood. You play with his waistband, sneaking your thumb under it to rub his hip bone. Dirk rests his fingers on your side and pulls you toward him until you catch on and shift to hover over him. He hooks a leg around yours again and you grind together as you kiss. You laugh into his mouth when he sneaks a squeeze of your ass. 

The friction of rubbing your dick on him, even though two layers of cloth, feels terrific, and you’ll blow your load much too soon if you keep this up. Reluctantly you shift back an inch and hook your fingers questioningly into his underpants. He lifts his hips up and bends his legs for you to pull them off. You drop them to the floor and then, nervous, do the same for your own. 

Dirk looks at your dick with curiosity but also something like hunger. Desire. His breath catches when you run a hand up his leg to the blonde curls between them. 

It’s harder, this time, somehow, maybe because of your nudity twisting apprehension into your stomach, or because you’re trying to see what you’re doing. Dirk grabs your wrist when you fail to figure out how to touch him and redirects you. You start rubbing him again with your thumb until his hand drops away and he grinds his head back into the mattress, shuddering. With your other fingers, you reach lower until you find his hole. 

Dirk moans lowly when you press one finger in. He’s very warm and slick and you just sort of… wiggle your finger around as you keep rubbing him, feeling him clench down around you. You try to memorize the things you do that make his breathing hitch. 

“Jake, god, just do it already,” he says at last. “I want it, come on.” 

You huff out a shaky laugh. “So impatient,” you say, though you’re desperately ready as well. “Um, just… tell me if it hurts?” 

He nods and reaches up to pull you down. You adjust until your hips press together and your dick nudges against him. Dirk takes a steadying breath. You use your hand to try to direct yourself until you catch his hole and slide in. 

You have to force yourself to hold still once you’re halfway in. He’s hot and wet and it feels so damn good, you think you could come right here and now if you aren’t careful. 

“How’s that?” you manage, hardly recognizing your own voice, gone all rough with effort. “Is this okay?” 

Dirk is making an odd face. “It’s… we’re good,” he says. “I think, uh, just keep going.” 

You do so, watching him carefully. “You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” you check. 

“It’s…” Dirk’s voice is shaking. “It’s good, I think. You can… do your thing.” 

This is not the most reassuring statement Dirk’s ever made, but you push the rest of the way in nevertheless. Trying to be gentle, you pull back and thrust in again. Dirk chokes out half a sound. 

“Are you—” you start. 

“What do I have to do, tell you in graphic fucking detail that your dick feels good?” His voice is tight with what you finally recognize is pleasure. 

“Oh,” you say. You rock in again and he gasps, drops a hand between you to rub himself. Well. That seems like a good sign. Heartened, you brace yourself better and bend to kiss his neck, returning the favor from earlier. He moans again as you start up a slow tempo, fighting the instincts telling you just to fuck into him and chase your orgasm with all haste, trying to make sure it stays good for him. As far as you can tell, it works. All you have to do now is last long enough to make sure he comes. 

You kiss down the side of his neck to the neckline of your shirt. It’s a little big on him, hanging loose on one shoulder, and you open your mouth against him here, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his exposed skin. Each thrust into him twists liquid heat through you, and you’re panting before long. Dirk liked it when you nipped at him earlier. You try a nibble on the exposed start of his shoulder. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he whispers in a voice almost inaudibly quiet. You fasten your mouth to his skin and suck, hard as you can, then scrape your teeth over the spot. He whines and  _ holy mackerel _ you can feel him squeeze around you. 

You lost the edge of your control at some point, thrusts no longer measured, and groan his name into his skin. You’re fucking him with a discernible wet noise, which is just too hot. The next time you moan it’s into his mouth because you’re kissing him again, hardly able to concentrate enough for even that. You just let your mouths brush each other as you fuck into him again and again and again. 

When you brace yourself up with a vague sense that you might have a better angle this way, Dirk’s eyes are open but glazed with arousal. He shuts his eyes quickly when you lock gazes and bites his lip. You suck it back out from between his teeth and he makes a strangled, desperate noise. 

Between your bodies you can still feel his hand working himself. You’ll get him to show you better, sometime, what to do, you think. He’s clearly had plenty of practice on his own at getting himself off, and you don’t want to muck things up getting your own clumsy fingers involved. Next time, you promise yourself. For now you’ll just make certain that everything else you do only helps him along. 

Feeling intrepid, you duck to bite him again, harder this time. Dirk’s free hand goes tight on your back, fingernails digging in. “Jake, oh, god, Jake, _fuck_ ,” he gasps. His voice is a strained, spectacular wreck. 

“So, biting’s good, then,” you say into his neck. 

“Fuck you,” he groans. “Do it again.” 

You obediently move down to sink your teeth into his collarbone, feel his whole body jolt, throwing off your rhythm. Not wanting to run out of skin to nibble on, you suck another bruise over your teeth marks. He squirms, somehow even wetter than when you began. Then you bite the junction of his neck and shoulder, scrape your teeth downward until you have to stop or get a mouthful of shirt. 

He moans and rocks his hips in time with you, slides his hand down to the top of your ass. You think he might be close — you sure know you are, but he’s squirming frantically and grinding his fingers against himself so hard you worry it must nearly hurt. You want to find a way to push him over the edge. 

Abandoning his shoulder, you roughly push his head back and bite down high on his neck, below his jaw along the corded line there. He yelps and then curses, and all at once pulses around you, going tight and clenching repeatedly. Dirk whimpers your name and you kiss his neck, committing this moment, this feeling to memory. 

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers, and finally the hand he’d been using on himself goes limp. You kiss his neck again, forcing yourself still despite the urge to go hard as you can. 

Then he unexpectedly grabs your hair and pulls you up high enough to kiss, once, impatient and sloppy. “Come on,” he says. “Give it to me, I want to feel you.” 

“Shit,” you breathe, kicked to the core by the intensity of his eyes. He hitches his legs more firmly around your waist and pointedly rolls his hips until you move again. The first thrust makes him shudder all over again, like an aftershock. When you’re convinced it doesn’t hurt him to keep going, you just shut your eyes and let yourself rush to catch your orgasm, dancing so temptingly out of reach. Dirk murmurs something encouraging, something so sexy in his ragged voice that it burns you to hear. 

“‘M close,” you groan out. 

“I know,” he croons. “Let me feel it, Jake. God, you’re so fucking hot, you know that?” 

You feel a tremor start in your arms and you say his name into his ear as your orgasm hits you all at once, hot and desperate. You push all the way into him and spill out, cock jerking, and Dirk rubs his hand over your sweat-slicked back and holds you there. 

You’re done. Your legs burn from the exertion and Dirk lets you go as you slump off of him. The bed is too small for you to spread out, but you can collapse at his side and curl your arm over him, kiss his jaw one last time and shut your eyes. _Wow_. 

For a long moment, you’re both quiet. 

“So, was that your plan?” Dirk asks unexpectedly. “Seduce me into not being mad at you?” 

You snort. “Shut up,” you say, eyes still shut. 

“Are we, like.” Dirk’s voice is still a little funny, and he clears his throat. “Boyfriends, then?” 

“That sounds like a bang-up plan to me,” you say. “Are you going to keep chattering, or are you going to take this nap with me?” 

He laughs, and settles down. Things are quiet for another moment. 

“Actually, I think I’m hungry,” he says. 

“Left your lunch on the table,” you yawn. 

“You should get it,” he suggests. 

“What? No. You’re closer.” 

“I don’t think my legs work, though.” 

“You can get your own damn lunch,” you say, and prod him in the side until he pushes you away and wiggles up to standing. You open your eyes and watch him snag the plate off his desk. 

“Stop looking at my ass,” he says. 

“It’s nice, though,” you defend. When he settles back down with the plate, you steal some of the ham out of his second sandwich. He complains and pretends to be annoyed, and you hide your smile against his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Dirk presents his project in the auditorium the following week, lovebites hidden neatly under his collar. He holds his dragon kite up for everyone to see, and with one quick activating sigil, tosses it into the air. The dragon takes flight, spiralling around his head, then climbing higher into the air. 

“There are five movements the kite takes,” Dirk says, voice carrying easily. “It can fly in a circle, a figure-eight, and raise or lower altitude. Beyond that, it has the beginning and ending procedures.” As if to illustrate his point, the dragon flies a twisting shape in the air. “However, the movements it takes are neither random nor pre-decided by myself. The dragon has just enough of its own intelligence to make those decisions itself. It only knows these five movements, but, like any intelligent creature, it relishes the freedom of choice. Currently it can fly for 60 seconds. In the future, perhaps it will be able to stay up longer.” 

The dragon turns two more circles around him. 

“The way it lands is by focusing on a sense of an individual’s existence, through intuitive magics,” Dirk explains. “There’s potential for this to be used as a messaging system, I believe. If you’ll observe.” He gestures for his audience to watch as the dragon straightens out from its lazy loops, flying away from him. It quickly loses altitude, diving to the first row of seats, and coasts to a stop, landing neatly in your lap. You look up at Dirk. 

He smiles the tiny smile he reserves just for you before turning to finish his presentation. You grin back, even though he’s no longer looking, convinced you’ve never been happier in your entire life. 


End file.
